Is There Room For A Flood?

Seeing 02:23 in your
24 hour system
daily,
pinches in strange places,
upsets 'real'-time.

Keep Notes
can not process
what you tell it now
not because it is foolish
but because
it is always late 

~ 

Lying here today
I wonder
how honest I really am
I wonder
how candid is too candid
I wonder how plain truth, may bring
plane boundaries
that are overly defined
but vaguely understood,
paving
stern glinting metaled roads
in place of
randomly romantic,
unstructured undulating,
content,
goat paths.

Should heads bow down shamed
when they are
illuminated by confusions
should fingers hesitate
to share words
unknowing,
unformed,
should we not tell
we are fuelled
by the sharp tastes
of uncertainty
drunk on the magical
dancing spontaneity
the absurd sudden loveliness,
almost a deity
--we pray variably, of course.

~

Is there room for waves
in this world?
Room for their
cresting and crashing
constantly
and cresting again.
Room for their
chatter that perpetuates
coastline after coastline
only unheard on the inside,
distanced.
Room for their
meek withdrawals
though bold returns.
Room for their
certain uncertainty,
the majestic power,
the pounding persistence,
the relentlessness,
the flux,
the movement,
the transcendence,
the vastness.
Is there room for a flood?

~

But they're late thoughts
blurry by means of
less light,
less mind,
surreal time,
no?
Dismissible.

© Utsa Seth, 2020